Saving Danny (23 page)

Adrian went into the garden with Danny while I made the hot chocolate and a snack. Lucy and Paula had had enough of the cold for one day and stayed indoors. I watched Adrian and Danny through the kitchen window as the milk warmed in the pan. George was on the lawn and Danny had squatted down to examine the footprints he’d left, which were clearly very different to ours. I could see he was intrigued, and Adrian was beside him, doubtless talking to him about the footprints. Adrian read a lot and had good general knowledge, which, like my father, he was happy to share with others.

When everyone was at the table with their hot drinks and snacks I took the opportunity to telephone Reva – from the living room, so Danny couldn’t hear. I explained that I’d only got her message after we’d returned home and that Danny – after some persuasion – had been fine in the snow.’

‘As long as he’s all right,’ Reva said a little stiffly. ‘I’ll see you Tuesday then.’ And with a rather curt goodbye she hung up, so I guessed I was still in her bad books, although I wasn’t sure why.

Danny desperately needed new experiences, even if it stretched him to his limit, otherwise he would miss out on so much. By Monday morning all the snow had melted and I needed to do a small shop at our local supermarket, about a fifteen-minute walk away, so as it was half-term holiday I decided to take Danny. Adrian, Lucy and Paula didn’t want to come, preferring to stay at home. I explained to Danny where we were going and why. He didn’t say anything but did put on his coat and shoes when I asked him to without a fuss. We passed the supermarket on our way to school, so it wasn’t completely unfamiliar to him, although I’d never taken him inside before.

Outside Danny held my hand, as he knew he had to in the street, and as we walked I talked to him about some of the things we passed – the crocuses and other plants in the front gardens, the house numbers on the gates, the birds looking for food, as well as the shop we were going to. Danny didn’t say much, but I knew from the look of concentration on his face that he was taking it all in. Talking to him would also widen his vocabulary as well as his general knowledge.

I’ve found before that if children are involved in shopping they are less likely to become bored and disruptive, so I enlisted Danny’s help from the start, explaining that I needed a big boy to help me. I took a wire basket, showed him my shopping list, read out the first item – a can of tomatoes – and asked him to help me find it. I knew where it was, but we had the time and it was an interesting challenge for him to search it out.

‘Well done,’ I said, as he proudly took the can from the shelf and placed it carefully in the basket.

I showed him the list again and read out the next item – bananas – and we went off in search of the fruit and vegetables. It took a long time before we had the dozen or so items on my shopping list and were at the checkout. The assistant was very patient as Danny, in his slow methodical way, insisted on taking each item from the basket and handing them to her one at a time for scanning. As we left the store I praised him and thanked him for his help. Although shopping was a comparatively small achievement, it had been another positive experience for Danny that would help boost his confidence and self-esteem.

Unfortunately, as we headed back an ambulance sped past, its siren suddenly switching on and wailing. It made me start, but Danny was petrified. He threw himself on the ground and, clamping his hands over his ears, curled into a ball as he tried to protect himself from the noise. I knelt beside him and talked to him calmly as passers-by looked at us. Eventually I persuaded him to his feet, but it was some minutes before he felt able to take his hands away from his ears and was ready to continue home, even though the siren had long gone. I’d noticed before that Danny covered his ears if there was a loud or sudden noise, as though it was painful for him, and I was aware that some special needs children have very sensitive hearing. It was something I would mention to Terri.

On Tuesday morning Danny returned to using the phrase ‘Yes, thank you very much’, which was to prove useful later that morning when the questionnaire for his review (due to take place the following week) arrived in the post. As usual with a child’s review there were two sets of forms: one for me as his carer to fill in, which I would do later when I had a quiet moment, and one for the child. It was a small booklet designed to encourage the child to give their views on being in care. As a foster carer I had a duty to ensure the child received the booklet and help them to fill it in if necessary. Although it was child-friendly – with coloured sketches and simple questions – given that Danny could barely write his name and had communication difficulties, I knew it was beyond him, even with my help. Nevertheless, I sat him down quietly at the table with the booklet in front of us and told him that Terri had sent the booklet for his review. I explained in simple language what a review was, and that the booklet gave him the chance to tell everyone what he thought about being in foster care. By the time I’d finished he was agitated and drumming his clenched fists on the table.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll read out each question. You say what comes into your head and I’ll write it down.’ I’d done this with other special needs children I’d fostered who couldn’t read or write. I began with the first question, which asked if he knew why he was in care. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny replied.

It was his response, so I wrote it down and read out the second question, which asked how often he saw his social worker. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, which I also wrote. The next question asked what he liked about living with his foster carer and what he didn’t like. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny replied to both. And so on and so on until we’d completed the ten questions, all with the same response. Some questions included drawings of little faces with various expressions ranging from happy to sad to angry, and the child had to tick the one that best applied to them. Danny ticked them all, which I thought was probably a fair appraisal of the mixture of feelings he often had.

On the back of the booklet was a line where the child had to sign their name, and Danny carefully wrote ‘Danny’. Beneath that was another line where the name of any person who had helped the child complete the form had to be entered. I wrote my name and added a note that ‘Yes, thank you very much’ was Danny’s favourite expression. I told Danny he’d done well, but I wondered how much he’d gained from the experience other than a degree of patience. While it’s important children in care are given the opportunity to express their views and have a say in planning their future, I sometimes feel that correct procedure can override common sense when it comes to form-filling. The review would learn more from me about Danny’s views on being in care than it would from the form.

At twelve noon Reva arrived to collect Danny for the extra contact. She thanked me for having him ready with his coat and shoes on and said that she would return him at six o’clock. I used the time to catch up on the housework, which had fallen into second place due to the high level of Danny’s needs, as well as taking the opportunity to spend time with Paula, Lucy and Adrian. I was planning on taking Danny out again the following day. Like many parents and foster carers I liked to make the most of the school holidays, with a mixture of outings and activities at home. Normally I would have taken us all out on at least one day trip, but I knew Danny couldn’t cope with a full day in a strange place with new sights and sounds, so I was considering taking him to the cinema. Because it was half-term there was a good selection of films on suitable for children of most ages. Whether Danny could cope with a trip to the cinema was another matter, but I wanted to try.

When Reva returned Danny she didn’t come in but said goodbye to him on the doorstep. Danny went through to see George and I asked her if he had ever been to the cinema.

‘Good grief, no!’ she exclaimed, astounded. ‘He couldn’t cope with that.’

‘Have you ever tried?’ I asked. I hoped it didn’t sound like a criticism, but if she had taken him I could learn from her experience.

‘No, and neither would I,’ she said. ‘He’s scared of the dark and loud noises.’

‘I understand that,’ I said. ‘I’d choose the film carefully. But would you have any objection if I took him tomorrow?’ It was appropriate to ask her.

‘You can try if you wish,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘But I don’t know how you think he’s going to sit in a cinema for two hours when he doesn’t even watch television for five minutes. And supposing he has a meltdown?’ she asked anxiously. ‘What will you do with all those people there?’ Yet again it seemed that Reva had become imprisoned by Danny’s condition as much, if not more, than he had, and was scared to try anything new with him.

‘If necessary I’ll have to carry him out,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t stay if he was upset.’

‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Good luck.’

I thanked her and we said goodbye.

After Danny had fed George and we’d done a little of his homework (which he still liked to do as part of his evening routine, even though it was the school holiday), I talked to him about the cinema. I likened it to a very big television screen that we’d sit in front of to watch a film with other adults and children. I told him where the cinema was and that I was thinking of taking him tomorrow.

He was silent.

‘Would you like to go to the cinema?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, which of course meant very little, being his stock phrase. But then there was a long pause when I knew Danny was trying to find the words he needed to reply. Finally he said, ‘Children at my school go to the cinema.’

‘Yes, I expect they do,’ I said, delighted he’d answered with something appropriate. ‘Do the children at school talk about the cinema and the films they’ve seen?’

There was another long pause before Danny said, ‘They have seen the films
Chicken Run
and
Scooby-Doo
.’

‘They were on at the cinema recently,’ I said. ‘Did they like going to the cinema?’

‘Yes.’

Although Danny rarely spoke to the children at school and often appeared unreceptive and on the sidelines of their social interaction, he’d clearly been listening to what they said and taking it all in. I felt sad as I imagined him in the playground standing alone or with his classroom assistant, overhearing the other children chatting excitedly about what they’d been doing in their leisure time but never being able to join in.

‘So we’ll go to the cinema tomorrow afternoon,’ I said to him. ‘Then you will be able to tell your friends what you saw.’

He looked very thoughtful and after another pause said quietly, ‘Yes, Danny tell friends he go to the cinema.’

The following morning when I went into Danny’s bedroom I was expecting that he might have some questions about the cinema, having had time to process the information and compose them, but his bed was empty. I turned to the wardrobe, concerned that the door was closed and he might have shut himself in again, as I’d warned him not to. I opened the door, but the wardrobe was empty. Then I heard a noise under the bed. Turning, I knelt down and peered underneath. Danny was on his back, eyes open. I didn’t think he’d been there for long as his bed was still warm.

‘What are you doing under there?’ I asked.

‘I’m at the cinema,’ Danny said.

‘You’re pretending to be at the cinema,’ I said. ‘You are really under your bed.’

‘Pretending to be at the cinema,’ Danny repeated. ‘It’s dark.’

‘Yes, the cinema is dark,’ I agreed. This, of course, was the only similarity between being under the bed and in the cinema, but it was significant that he’d latched onto the word ‘dark’ when I’d told him about the cinema.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I reassured him. ‘It won’t be very dark in the cinema, and you’ll be with me the whole time.’

There was silence before Danny said, ‘Danny hiding.’

‘Yes, I know. Why are you hiding?’

‘Danny hiding from Mummy.’

‘I think you hide from Mummy a lot,’ I said, as he began to crawl out. ‘It worries her.’

‘Danny hiding from Mummy now,’ he said, and I realized he was referring to me as Mummy. How confusing it must be for him.

‘Danny, love,’ I said. ‘I am your foster carer and you call me Cathy. Your mummy and daddy are at home. You saw Mummy yesterday, Tuesday.’ I pointed to the children’s calendar I’d pinned to the bedroom wall. ‘You will see Mummy again tomorrow, Thursday. Then again on Saturday.’

Danny looked at the calendar and then at me, although he didn’t make eye contact. There was a long pause as he concentrated on what he needed to say.

‘Like my mummy,’ he said at last, pointing at me.

‘Yes, I am like your mummy,’ I said, smiling. ‘That’s right. While you are with me I look after you and do the things for you that Mummy did.’ Then, without thinking, I instinctively kissed his cheek. Surprisingly, he didn’t recoil from the physical contact but suddenly threw his arms around my neck and hugged me. It was our first hug and I felt my eyes fill.

‘Like my mummy,’ he said. ‘I love my mummy.’ And I hoped Reva appreciated just how much love Danny had to give her. It was just very difficult for him to show it.

Chapter Twenty

Important

The trip to the cinema was a success overall, although it had its moments. Paula, Lucy and Adrian hadn’t wanted to come, having other things to do, which was just as well in the end as they might have been embarrassed by some of Danny’s behaviour. Danny was very good as I found a parking space and then held my hand as we walked to the cinema. He waited patiently while we queued to buy the tickets. I’d already explained the procedure and what to expect. We were seeing a Thomas the Tank Engine film, so there were many other children there too. Inside, he sat in the seat I showed him without a problem, but as the seats around us began to fill he grew anxious, and I swapped seats so he could sit at the end, next to the aisle. I continued to talk to him while we waited for the film to start, reassuring him and explaining more about the cinema and what was going to happen. I’d brought a bag of sweets that I knew he liked, but he didn’t want one. As the lights began to dim I continued to talk quietly to him and placed my hand lightly on his arm. He was alert and vigilant but didn’t appear anxious. However, when the first advertisement shot onto the screen with a loud whooshing noise, he screamed. Those sitting in front of us turned and stared.